Chapter Thirty-One: That Damn Sense of Security!

Tang Fei had dealt with the Clown, the Phoenix had defeated the Serpent Lady, and the Old Man had finished off Shanhé. Only Fatty was still locked in a desperate struggle with Flying Knives.

As his name implied, Flying Knives excelled at using blades—nine of them, to be precise. In his hands, the nine flying knives attacked Fatty from all angles, slashing, hacking, stabbing, and slicing, swirling through the air like a deadly dance. Fatty swung an iron hammer meant for smashing rocks, defending himself with every ounce of strength he had, sealing himself off in an impenetrable defense. Yet, he could not break through the relentless onslaught of Flying Knives.

It was easy to imagine what would happen soon: once Fatty was exhausted and his defense faltered, Flying Knives would swiftly and mercilessly claim his life.

Worried for Fatty’s safety, Tang Fei wanted to rush in to help, only to be yanked back by the Old Man.

“What are you doing?” Tang Fei shot him a glare, irritation clear in his voice. “If I don’t step in, Fatty’s going to end up as sashimi...”

“Is that so?” The Old Man looked at him expectantly. “That kid’s skin is so tender and fair...”

“...”

Did you hear that? Can you believe it?

“Fatty is no match for his opponent,” Phoenix said, approaching with a worried expression. She genuinely cared for Fatty—she could feel that his kindness toward her was sincere.

Tang Fei was her partner, but as for the Old Man...

She always felt a faint hostility from the Old Man, as if he was suppressing some emotion. Of course, she couldn’t be sure if her feeling was justified. Maybe the Old Man just thought Tang Fei had brought home another freeloader.

After today’s successful hunt with Tang Fei, the Old Man’s attitude toward her had indeed improved.

“Heh heh...” The Old Man gave his signature laugh. “I think the opposite of you two—I bet Fatty will win.”

“Is this really something to bet on?” Tang Fei snapped. “If you lose, Fatty loses his life.”

“Why not? Don’t I care about Fatty too?” The Old Man grinned shamelessly. “If something happens to Fatty, who will break rocks for me?”

“Well, that’s a unique way of showing concern,” Tang Fei mocked.

“All right, all right, I know you care. Just keep an eye on him, and if he’s in danger, jump in,” the Old Man said impatiently. “But I stand by my opinion—Fatty will win. That kid’s knife skills may be impressive, but for Fatty, it’s just a matter of one good swing.”

Since the Old Man insisted, Tang Fei said no more. He knew the Old Man could be unreliable in trivial matters, but when it mattered most, he was never careless.

After all, Fatty had been raised by him. In such an environment of scarcity, to have kept Fatty so chubby and healthy—Tang Fei didn’t believe there hadn’t been some secret snacks passed his way.

If the Old Man believed Fatty could win, there was a reason.

Still, Tang Fei kept a dagger ready in his palm, prepared to spring forward at the first sign of danger—either to save Fatty or to strike down his enemy.

Phoenix, too, was deeply concerned, but seeing Tang Fei concede, she had even less ground to argue. After all, she was still an outsider.

Like Tang Fei, she secretly gripped her Phoenix Whip, eyes never leaving the battle before her. If she sensed Fatty was in danger, she would “snatch” him away with her whip.

“What is Fatty’s cultivation stage?” Phoenix asked.

If he had reached the same level as Tang Fei, she wouldn’t need to worry so much.

“Fatty has no cultivation,” Tang Fei replied.

Phoenix was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Fatty hasn’t even begun his practice, not even at the Body Tempering stage,” Tang Fei explained.

“That’s impossible!” Phoenix exclaimed.

She remembered the first time she saw Fatty, how he’d swung a hammer taller than himself to smash rocks, how he’d shouldered an escape pod weighing several tons, how he’d chased the grey-robed men carrying a tree trunk... Now he was holding his own against a top assassin from the New Star, and yet you say he hasn’t started cultivating?

“That’s right,” the Old Man chuckled, watching Fatty as if he were a priceless treasure. “Fatty doesn’t have much aptitude—he’s never been able to sense the presence of Yin or Yang energy... He’s not even at the Body Tempering stage.”

“Fatty lacks aptitude... and you’re this happy about it?” Tang Fei said, exasperated.

“Have you thought about it?” the Old Man turned to Tang Fei. “What if one day Fatty does sense Yin and Yang energy, becomes a true cultivator... wouldn’t that be terrifying?”

“What’s so terrifying about that? I think it would be great. Fatty’s cried plenty of times because he can’t sense the energy and can’t become a cultivator.”

“I mean his strength would be terrifying,” the Old Man retorted, rolling his eyes. “Think about it—he’s already so powerful and can take a beating, all without sensing Yin or Yang. Once he starts cultivating, how strong will he become?”

Tang Fei mulled this over. “But what if he never senses it? Or he’s so slow that it’s not until he’s seventy or eighty? What good would it do then?”

“You brat, are you just arguing for argument’s sake? Who senses it that late? Is he an idiot?”

“There are plenty of people who never sense it in their whole lives. Isn’t that possible? And if it’s Fatty we’re talking about... don’t you think it could happen?”

The Old Man sighed deeply.

Clearly, Tang Fei had touched a sore spot. The Old Man worried too—that Fatty might never sense Yin or Yang, or that by the time he did, it would be too late...

Just as he sensed Yin, he might step into the underworld.

While they chatted, the fight had reached its climax.

Fatty seemed unfazed, still swinging his hammer with abandon to block the nine relentless knives.

But Flying Knives was growing more anxious by the minute. Unlike Fatty, who was stretched thin, Flying Knives had controlled the fight from the start. He knew his opponent was just a brute with raw strength. Once he wore Fatty out, he could slit his throat with ease.

Victory was just a matter of time.

Yet, as the fight dragged on, he realized something was wrong.

They had gathered an audience.

And not just anyone—Tang Fei, Phoenix, and the Old Man were all here now.

As an assassin, he knew each of them had an opponent. Now they were all present—what did that mean, if not that their fights were over?

If he killed Fatty, how would he face the others? The situation was dire; he had to finish Fatty quickly.

He sneered at Fatty, taunting, “Give up, kid. The more you struggle, the more exhausted you get... I know you’ve given it your all... Out of strength, can’t lift your hammer anymore, can you? Just give up—it’ll be easier... Don’t worry, my blade is quick—you won’t feel a thing...”

Even as he spoke, he increased the speed of his attack, forcing Fatty to retreat step by step.

---

Tang Fei’s eyes were cold as ice. “I’m going to cut out his tongue when I get the chance,” he declared.

He would never allow anyone to bully Fatty. He would rather be bullied himself than let anyone harm Fatty.

Fatty was indeed exhausted.

He was gasping for breath, sweat pouring down his face, the iron hammer in his hands as heavy as a mountain. Every swing drained the last of his strength.

But when would it end?

Sweat ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. He didn’t dare wipe it away, knowing that the slightest misstep would allow the nine knives to pierce him and turn him into a human pincushion.

Fatty liked eating porcupine, but he certainly didn’t want to become one.

His movements slowed. When he swung his hammer to knock aside two blades above his head, the hammer slipped from his grasp.

“Now’s my chance!”

Flying Knives’ eyes lit up. He grabbed a knife, crouched low, and lunged for Fatty’s throat. The rest of Fatty’s body was too thick, and his knives too short to penetrate elsewhere...

Closer and closer!

He could smell the sweat on Fatty, could feel his heartbeat and breath.

“Now...”

Flying Knives knew he had it. His dagger was about to touch Fatty’s skin.

Bang!

Suddenly, his body arched like a shrimp, and he soared high into the air.

“Huh...”

He realized Fatty was getting smaller, the distance between them growing.

Only then did he feel a searing pain in his chest.

Thud!

He crashed hard to the ground, tried to rise, only to see a giant bearing down on him.

Crunch!

A sickening crack sounded from his bones.

Worried that Flying Knives might survive, Fatty raised his massive fists and pounded mercilessly at his head.

Bang, bang, bang...

By the time Tang Fei rushed over and pulled Fatty away, Flying Knives was unmistakably dead, his face unrecognizable, his head swollen like a pig’s.

The Old Man hurried over, checked for breath, and snapped, “You brat, did you have to hit so hard? I wanted to keep him alive to ask a few questions.”

“I was afraid... afraid I wouldn’t finish him off...” Fatty panted, his sincerity plain.

“You’ve shattered every bone in his body—how could he live? Well, dead is dead.” The Old Man had wanted to ask if they had any teammates left, or supplies. More importantly, how had so many of them traveled here from the New Star—what kind of transport had they used? If he could get his hands on a flying saucer, it would be a real windfall.

Tang Fei knelt by Flying Knives’ corpse, pried open his mouth, and sliced out his tongue with the dagger.

Phoenix, watching nearby, felt her scalp prickle. This man... When he spoke of retribution, he meant it—there was a dreadful reassurance in that.